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Grief Sessions

So I had another session yesterday.

I feel more in control. A little sick that I will soon be saying five months. Christmas scares me, but like a lot of things in my life that feel unknown or unresolved, I can’t deal with them right now.

I feel like I have been waiting for a sign from you that I did you right on your way down the road. My grief volunteer, suggested I would know if I saw it. Perhaps I would see sick n sin someplace, etc. Yeah, that didn’t happen. But the amount of times I have heard your name, Melissa in the last two weeks has to be something more than chance. One of the times, the person talking about her Melissa, describes you to a mother fucking t. I started bawling. She didn’t really know what she was saying was slapping me like Japanese Karp inviting themselves on-board.

I ditched the permethrin cream now that Mr. Yummy is all clear and went for the pill. I didn’t really think the cream would work because I was misdiagnosed for a good month. Those bad boys were settling in with a vigor.  I also couldn’t get a pill prescribed for him without him seeing my doctor and the cream comes in a two serving size. I ate my pill last night. 4 of them. The really fucked up side effect: itching. I also have a head ache, feel like barfing, and my insides feel poorly.

One good laugh deserves another.

You died with these. Four of us are confirmed with the parasites. You just died before symptoms manifested. Isn’t that fucked up? To the very end, we were in it together.

I’m not at peace, but I am not falling apart hourly anymore. I feel a little tougher, a lot less raw. That raw was something I have never known. I guess it is all just part of totally loving you, then losing you.

I never saw that coming. I am now touched with the knowledge that anyone can die. Anytime. I am so lucky we said I love you the last time we spoke. That you squeezed my hand when I asked if you could feel me holding your hand. That you kissed me good-bye. So lucky. In the context of you dying. I’d rather be smoking and drinking coffee on the phone, listening to one another talk about life.

I do miss you. I have never gone this long without talking to you on the phone. Even when your cell was shut off here and there. Even when I was in Alaska. The 24th of each month will remind me of our last call. Ever. I also know that some of this void, pain, sadness, hurt…will never go all the way away. There is an odd comfort with Danolyn right now, because he lost his Mel. He gets what it is like to be in my shoes. A truly fucked up comfort in his having a dead g/f. She shot herself. He told me his thoughts after. He gets my sadness, anger, need for help. I don’t have to fake it to make him comfortable and I love him for that. THAT, is a friend. But, and thank god for this, he’s not you.

Well Girl, this laundry isn’t doing itself.

Sick n Sin


You Probably Wouldn’t Believe (a lot of shit in my life right now)

Dear Mel,

I talked to your cousin today. You know the one who is like your foster-brother.

I have wanted to text/call/Facebook him so many times and I just don’t, because of your uncle. I’m sure you know what a sticky situation that is.

Your cousin regrets that you didn’t know that you could be real with him. He then told me, since you trusted me, he would too. He told me the same thing happened to him then he named a few other names.


I love you.

I don’t know if you would approve of this friendship that is forming between your cousin and me. He has tons that he says he wants to say to me, and after all the crazy, and understanding why you kept friends and family separate, he feels safe. I told him about the horrible night. The  suction night. The Gown night. How I wanted to kill someone and walking away. How upsetting it is to me, that this is the last time I saw your beautiful almond-shaped eyes. They did smile at me in those last days. I do find peace in that, but it just sucks that the last time we locked eyes, was in that moment of fucking of trauma.

I remember asking you if you could feel me or anyone holding your hand when we were sitting with you. You were still on the life support and unable to nod. You blinked your eyes, slowly. Twice. I asked you if you could squeeze my hand, and you did.

I also remember the night that I whispered in your ear about your daughter. Knowing you needed to say you were sorry to her, helping you to be able to do that and hoping that I gave her some kind of peace and ability to not blame herself for the boat YOU captained. I remember looking at you and hearing you try to push air out and seeing your lips trying to move. I heard an “Uhhhhh” sound. I watched your lips and could see you purse your lips like you were trying to get sound out. I realized you were trying to tell your daughter, “I Love You”. I asked you if you that was what you were trying to say. We were at the second hospice by then. No life support. You were able to nod yes. I wish you knew how beautiful that moment was.

Talking to your cousin today, we were contemplating a drink, which I am sure means a drink and a bowl. I told him I couldn’t see anyone till I clear up my scabies I brought back from Texas. We talked about that and then I said, I wonder what she would say to that. He didn’t miss a beat, other than he called you that name you told me to NEVER FUCKING CALL YOU. He said “She would be laughing her ass off.” I can’t even type your fake family name.

I am sure, I will always be a little mad at you, but I can’t carry around what I have carried for a while now. I have to forgive it all. Mostly because I love you, but also because I understand, and know that forgiving you is what I will do in the end. I’d rather always love you and not hate you. You have always had the best of me and never judged the worst of me. And my secrets that I told you? Well you never spilled a single bean, judged me for them, and you took them with you. I will do the same with you. Except the one your daughter figured out. That cat is out of the bag, but she and I are the only ones who know. She wasn’t surprised.

Don’t take it the wrong way if I let myself forget some of the really bad that happened in Texas. Every bit of it sucked, but there were moments I thought I was going out of my mind.

Leaving you? Oh my fucking god. Each mile closer to the airport was horrible. I felt like I needed to stay till you were gone, but I had to get back to work. I changed planes somewhere. I don’t remember where. Maybe Utah? I stopped to get something to eat between flights. I was sitting at a table outside this burger place. I was trying to choke down some food and thinking, “Mel is dying and I am sitting here eating. Mel’s not dying. I wouldn’t leave her. The doctors are wrong. She can’t die…” it went on and on and under it all was the knowledge, that you my love, were gone from my life. There was one moment when I thought I was going to start screaming. I don’t know what I was going to scream, I just remember wanting to scream and knowing this could not be fucking happening.

Suddenly there was a man in my face. He smiled and looked at me and asked if I was alright?

I remember looking at him and nodding yes and then my lip quivered. My eyes got hot. I felt my crazy start to spin. He asked, “Did you lose someone?”

I managed to tell him my best friend was laying in a hospice in DFW and I was on my way home.

He talked to me and said words I don’t remember. I remember is calm, warm, smiling face. I remember realizing what he was doing and thanking him. He replied with, “I just gave you a place to get away for a minute.” I again thanked him. He gave me his card. I found him on Facebook a few weeks later, because I know water seeks its own level as does energy.

His name is Michael.

He was like my angel in that moment of insanity.

I miss you so bad and wish we could sit and talk about this. Maybe some day?

I don’t want to be ready to do that, but I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it and how absolutely easy it would be to just give up this time.

Mr. Yummy?

He doesn’t deserve that from me. He would hate me. Because I would just go pick one up, and use it. I love you, but I don’t hate myself enough to do that anymore. I know, one day I will feel you again, and that will be an awesome, awesome fucking day.


Three Months

Dear Mel,

Tomorrow is three months. I miss you SO fucking much. Part of me tells myself that it’s “already” been three months! Get off your ass and get your shit together! The other part says, “It’s only been three months?! Life without you is going to seem like an eternity!

I had to stop writing to you here till I accepted that you are gone. You really aren’t going to call me ever again, I’m never going to hear that, “Hey Girl!” again. There is no mistake, you’re gone. I hate it, but I know it is true.

Remember the only concert we went to? kd lang, the Invincible Summer tour. She sang Hallelujah. We had good seats. It was right before you left for Texas, that God forsaken shit hole that I am convinced, houses Hell. There is one kd song in particular that has become your song. Though you have so many songs, this one really rang true to me this morning, when I was sitting in my car, in the dark, early for work.

I don’t think tomorrow, I want to write about the three months mark. In fact, I wish I could just let the day slide by, but I imagine, or at least I thought so on my drive home, that for a while, the 8th of every month will probably make me think of it, since I am now counting your death in months. At first, it was days, then weeks. One day it will be years. An eternity…life will be that without you.

I’m not so angry at you. I’m still pissed, don’t get me wrong. I always will be, but the love will by far outweigh the anger. I even managed to have a happy memory of you this morning, when I thought of us at the Egyptian getting ready to see kd lang together!

I still see your eyes. Your in the hospital dying eyes. Staring into mine. J asked his dad if he did the right thing not spending lots of time with you. I told him to tell him I think he did. It was his preference to remember you as you were in life. My problem at the moment is that I can’t un-see so many things I saw. I hate that the last time we locked eyes, was the suction debacle in hospice.

I told the lady in the grief session about that. All of it. I said out-loud to another human being that I whispered to you if you didn’t want it to bite down, and you did, and your mom fought you as I held your face in my hands, eyes locked, jaw clamped, breathing heavy, fighting her every step of the way, wanting death on your terms. Do you know what she told me? This grief counselor lady? She told me I honored you, our friendship, your wishes, and I had your back.

It was like she understood what I was trying to do with you as you walked that road. I just wanted you to know how fucking honored I am to have been your friend and soul-mate in life.

We had something a lot of people don’t have. I may have had shit luck with relationships that are romantic, but I fucking nailed it with you. It’s not something that is just an in life thing, because through your death, I have learned and will continue to learn. A lot.

I’m so lucky our last words were that of love. I still hear them.

ME: K girl, it’s 11:30, I’m tired, tomorrow is Christmas, I’ll talk to you then. Goodnight, I love you!

YOU: K Girl, Love you too! Night!



Doing the Right Thing

From the moment I got the call, I tried to do the right things for my friend and her children. I’m pretty sure she would thank me for the things I did.

The only thing that haunts me is when I whispered in her ear, that we know what she had been doing, and she needed desperately to apologize to her daughter so that down the road, she doesn’t blame herself for her mother’s death.

I think I feel this way because I am having such a hard time accepting her dependency on prescription drugs, and the lengths she went to get her hands on them. Denial. I know it to be true, because I whispered in her ear, on the side she couldn’t look while she was staring at her beautiful girl on her good side, “Honey, we know what you were doing. You have got to find a way to apologize to your daughter. I know if you could tell her you are sorry, that you would. I need you to look at her eyes, and if you want to tell her you are sorry, nod your head at her and I will tell her later, what I am saying to you.” I looked at her daughter who was looking at me with a strange look on her face. She asked me what I said to her mom,  so I went to her side, where her mother could see us both, and I asked if mom nodded at her, she replied that she did, a yes nod. I whispered in her ear what I said, away from prying ears.

And today, 45 days after my friend had a stroke, I’m not only hurt, but I am angry at her. I am angry at her for not taking better care of herself. I’m angry she thought she could pull this off and that she was impervious to how she treated herself. I’m angry at how she used her daughter. I’m angry at how she used her son. I’m angry she went to Texas and got miserably stuck there, and wouldn’t ask for help. For having MENSA after her, she sure did some dumb fucking shit, and yet, she is my love and there is nothing to forgive, because I love her and accept her unconditionally.

She had no idea, laying there dying, how empty she would leave some of us feeling. I’m only sorry she didn’t love herself, as much as we loved her.

I miss her.

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